Not so soon
by Rayxahlia
Summary: Tumblr Prompt: "You don't need to leave so soon." Matt and Frank are fighting (each other or other people) and Matt gets badly hurt. Frank takes him home to stich him up, but Matt feels like he is intruding


Matt woke up, tried to sit, and winced. Pain. At least two broken ribs. A splitting headache. Every muscle in his body was sore, stiff.

He laid back on the pillows and listened. The sounds coming from outside – car honks, sirens, voices, footsteps – told him it was early evening. They sounded different, though. Closer than they would be from his top-floor apartment. He didn't hear the familiar buzz of the billboard, or the sounds that came almost 24 hours a day from that old lady's TV, three floors below, or the constant whining of the dog two doors down.

 _Where am I?_

No sound from the room he was in. He could smell antiseptic and soap. There was another scent underneath, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The antiseptic was too strong, burning in his nostrils.

He tried to sit up again, carefully this time. The mattress creaked, the sheets rustled.

A movement in one corner of the room. He wasn't alone. Why hadn't he picked up the heartbeat? His head started spinning, he felt nauseous. _Oh, so that's why. Must have knocked my skull pretty hard_. He raised one hand and felt his head. A big lump under his fingers told him his intuition was right. Then he realised. _I'm not wearing my cowl._ His heart picked up. _Whoever they are, they've seen my face_. He wasn't sure he was in any shape to fight his way out of there.

Another movement, on his left. A rustle and a deep sigh.

"Morning, sunshine. Thought you'd never wake up."

Matt turned his head towards the voice and groaned. His headache was definitely getting worse. He wouldn't have thought it possible.

"Don't try to move. You have a concussion and a few broken ribs. If I were you, I'd lay low for a while."

"Frank? Where… How long have I been knocked out?"

"Three days."

"Three days?" He tried to sit up again. "I have to go. Foggy will be worried out of his mind."

"Lie down, Red. I called your friend. He knows you're alive and mostly OK. Stay where you are, I'm not gonna say it again."

"You called…? Frank, where are we?"

"My place."

" _Your_ place?"

"Christ's sake, Red, are you going to keep repeating what I say? Look, I found you in an alley. Knocked out cold, a lump like a walnut on your head. I picked you up and brought you here. Patched you up. You have a nice bruise on your side, let me tell you."

Matt remembered now. It was night. He'd chased a mugger. He wasn't following him, not at first. He'd been following Frank. He got sidetracked when he heard a woman cry for help. The thief had started running as soon as he'd got there, and he'd followed him in that alley. But he was distracted, still trying to keep his ears on Frank's heartbeat, his footsteps, the sounds coming from the weapons he was carrying around. He'd been careless. And when the other two guys had jumped out at him he'd found himself outnumbered and unprepared.

"And that was… three days ago?"

"Indeed."

Well, that explained the stiffness in his body, and the hunger. God, he was ravenous.

"I'll get ya some food," Frank said, as if he'd read his mind, and he left the room.

Left alone, Matt tried to understand where he was. He clapped his hands, wincing at the pain in his side. The echoes told him that the room was small and mostly empty. The bed was in one corner, pushed against the wall on two sides. A desk or some other kind of table was against the opposite wall. Beside the bed, something that could have been an armchair. Probably where Frank had been sleeping in the past few days to give him his bed. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought.

He concentrated on the noises coming from the open window. The usual sounds of New York: sirens, voices, footsteps, curses in a hundred different languages. He recognised the voice of the man who had a fruit stall on the sidewalk by his apartment building. That surprised him: his home was not far away. A couple of blocks, no more. He wondered if Frank had chosen this particular place for that reason, then shook the thought away. _Don't be silly, Matt: this place is probably close to his next target._

His musings were interrupted by Frank's return. He was carrying a tray, the smell of food made Matt's mouth water. Frank approached him, set the tray on the armchair beside the bed, and handed him a spoon and a bowl of soup.

"Careful, it's hot."

Matt took the bowl with a "thanks". That stuff was great, or maybe he was just very hungry. Either way, it was real, proper soup, not the cheap, canned thing. Frank had actually taken the time to cook for him. Matt was surprised.

He finished eating and set the bowl aside.

He tried to get up again. This time his head did not threaten to fall off, and his stomach seemed to be willing to cooperate. He stood and took a tentative step towards Frank. His legs gave way and he lost his balance. Frank caught him.

"Whoa, Red, I told you to stay put!"

Matt was suddenly aware of Frank's arms around him, of his hands on his sides. He noticed that Frank's hand was delicately placed far from his broken ribs. He also realised that he was shirtless, in his underwear. Of course, Frank would've had to take his suit off to patch him up. His heart picked up, he felt the heat rise to his face, and hoped with all his might that Frank couldn't see him blushing like a schoolgirl.

Frank held him for a few seconds – maybe a few seconds _too long_ , Matt thought - then helped him lie down on the bed again. It was a new sensation, for Matt, having someone to take care of him. Of course, Foggy did it all the time, he had lost count of the times he'd woken up on his couch to a very angry Foggy telling him how he'd almost got himself killed for the thousandth time.

But Foggy was his best friend. Frank was… Matt did not know. He had no idea why Frank would pick him up, take the time to look after him, and even call his friends to let them know he was OK.

"I really should go."

"You really should not, Red. You can barely stand. You haven't eaten in three days and you hit your head pretty hard."

Matt had no reply for that. Frank was right. Every time he tried to move his head he felt a stab of pain and he got dizzy. He wasn't in any shape to go home and be alone. Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself. He could demand of Frank to walk him home, then call Foggy or Karen, even Claire, to come keep an eye on him. That would be reasonable. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. _I don't wanna leave. God, I'm so stupid._

He laid back on the pillow, drowsiness creeping up on him. He managed to mumble a "thank you" before falling asleep again.

He woke up the next morning to an empty room and, as far as he could tell, an empty apartment.

He got up and managed to keep his balance, this time. He took a few tentative steps, his arms outstretched in front of him, testing his radar sense. Everything seemed to be working fine. No dizziness, no headache. Even the pain in his side seemed to be getting better. Probably it was just a hairline fracture. He'd still have to wait at least two weeks before being able to go out as Daredevil again, but it could have been much worse.

He found a pile of clean clothes on the armchair: jeans and a t-shirt. There was something printed on the front of the shirt, he hoped it wasn't anything rude or too silly, even though Frank didn't seem the type. It was probably the logo of some military academy.

He pulled the pants and shirt on and continued his exploration of the place. It was small, just two rooms. Besides the bedroom, there was a small kitchen with a table in one corner. A bathroom. He got to the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked. He could leave, if only he wanted to. _Do I want to?_

He stood there with a hand on the doorknob for what felt like an eternity, until he heard footsteps in the corridor outside, approaching the door. The familiar sound of Frank's heavy footfalls, of his military-issue boots hitting the floor. He got away from the door just as Frank turned the knob and entered.

"Good, you're up."

"Yeah, I was just… I wanted to…, " what was he going to say? I was just sneaking out? I wanted to leave before you got back? And why?

Frank didn't say anything. He shrugged out of his jacket and went to the kitchen to brew some fresh coffee. Matt followed him and sat at the table. A few minutes later Frank put a mug of steaming coffee in front of him.

"Sorry, I got no tea. Sugar?"

Matt was surprised at the remark: how would Frank know he preferred tea? He shook his head and took the mug. He sipped the coffee in silence. He could feel Frank's eyes on him, he was probably wondering why he was acting so weird. _I wish I knew, Frank. No, I wish I could tell you._

He finished his coffee and got up.

"Thanks for patching me up, Frank. I'd tell you I'll return the favour, but that would sound like I want you to get beaten up," he chuckled, and walked to the door. "I must go, now. Gotta call Foggy and tell him I'm OK."

Frank followed him to the door. Just as he was walking outside, Matt felt a hand fall on is shoulder. He turned around to face Frank.

"You don't need to leave so soon," Frank said, his voice strangely soft: Matt had never heard him use that tone before.

"I've bothered you enough. I don't wanna intrude," he managed to reply. His throat was suddenly dry. Frank's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"You're not… Oh, Christ's sake, Red!" and with these words, Frank kissed him on his mouth, hard. Matt was surprised at first, then returned the kiss. Frank tasted like coffee, he smelled like gunpowder and cologne. His heart was beating fast. Frank's hand left his shoulder and rested on his side.

"Stay," Frank said when their lips parted.

Matt's heart was racing. _What are you going to do, Matty?_

He turned around and closed the door.

"You'll have to find a phone. I still want to call Foggy," he said, before leaning in to kiss Frank again, smiling.


End file.
